Through The Window
by Crystal Mystery
Summary: AU Stiles takes a Saturday job cleaning windows for a block of flats. While on the job, one of the residents catches his eye, and after a creepy voyeristic first encounter and a near death experience, Stiles and Derek form a tentative friendship. But things don't end there because, come on, when do things ever end there? Sterek. Warning: swearing and references to sexual scenarios
1. The New Job

Stiles stared up at the imposing building.

It towered over him in a rather disconcerting way, the multitude of windows becoming painfully apparent the more he stared. Sighing, he sipped at the paper coffee cup he had clutched in his hands, ignoring the burning sensation in his fingertips because the heat felt so good in his stomach. The coffee was a perfect mixture of thick, caffeine laced beans, soft, creamy milk and a hint of hazelnut because it was his first day on a new job and he felt like he was ready for a bit of sophistication in his life. In his mind that meant hazelnut in his coffee.

There was a sudden tap on his shoulder, actually it was more of a painful smack, and he choked on the gulp of coffee he had just taken. Wheeling round so fast that he almost spilled the last few dregs in the paper cup all down his front, Stiles came face to face with a grumpy looking man dressed in blue overalls complete with a brown leather work belt and a grubby pair of work boots. The whole outfit was smeared with stains and splodges of paint, some slightly faded, presumably from multiple washes. All in all, he was the epitome of blue collar.

The man himself was probably in his forties, a thinning layer of black hair interspersed with flecks of grey. Pronounced wrinkles lined his face, accentuated by the fact that he was still aggressively frowning at Stiles, obviously not amused by his startled reaction.

Making the connection between the gruff man and his new job, Stiles smiled and tossed his coffee cup into a nearby bin before offering his now free hand to the man.

'Hi, I'm Stiles. You must be Mr Finstock.'

Finstock somewhat reluctantly took the proffered hand, shaking it so hard that Stiles' whole body jarred in response, before practically _throwing_ it back at Stiles.

'Yeah, that's me. Follow me, I'll show you where we keep the window supplies and where the swinging stage is. The rest you can work out for yourself.'

And with that the man was striding away towards the massive block of flats and Stiles was scrambling to scoop his bag up off of the floor and follow his new boss.

After Finstock showed him the supply closet where a multitude of cleaning supplies lined the dusty shelves, he led Stiles, now armed with the necessary supplies, back through the halls towards the back door. Pointing through the glass of the door frame he showed Stiles where the lift was that he would have to use to clean all of the windows, not even bothering to explain how the buttons worked, instead deciding that 'you're a smart boy, work it out,' was a suitable substitute. Stiles thanked the heavens that he was indeed a 'smart boy' with way too much time on his hands and an ADHD mind, because it meant that he had stayed up a lot of the previous night researching his new job and perfecting his window cleaning technique. And yes, he really did need a boyfriend.

'So yeah, that's basically all you need to know. Oh wait, one more thing. This,' Finstock tapped the wood of a door they were standing next to, 'is my office. I will most often be in here sleeping. Unless the building is burning down or the building owner drops by, I do not want to be bothered. Understood?'

He didn't wait for an answer, just pulled out a set of keys from his pocket and slipped one into the lock. He pulled open the door, turned and grinned at Stiles briefly, before slamming the door in his face with a parting 'Good luck, kid.'

Wandering outside, towards where the swinging stage was, Stiles climbed over the railing and situated himself on the scaffold. It shook a bit underneath his feet, swinging slightly from side to side when he dropped his bag to one side. He did a quick once over to check the mechanisms were all safe before beginning his ascent up the building, thinking it best to start at the top.

The building itself was extremely nice as far as flats go in the centre of the city (which is very nice indeed). It was 30 stories high, with two good sized flats on each floor each with roughly 16 windows between them. That meant that there were around 480 separate windows in the entire building. Luckily Stiles didn't have to clean them all.

In actuality, he'd been told that more than half the windows were _not_ to be cleaned. And it made sense because Stiles knew that he wouldn't be cool waking up to some stranger peering into his bedroom window, or opening his blind and coming face to face with a random person. He'd probably freak the hell out. So yeah, he got why bedroom windows were cut. The same went for bathroom windows.

So with those excluded he was mainly left with kitchen and living room windows to clean which totalled 200 building wide, and then minusing the widows with balconies attached, which were just a nuisance, that number went down to 180, roughly 3 windows per apartment.

Another added bonus was, that meant, because of the set layout of the various flats, he only had to wash two sides of the building, one side per apartment. It cut down significantly on time in the long run. That being said, the whole thing still took him a good 6 hours to complete, and he was always exhausted by the end. Working sucked, but he wanted to show his dad that he was responsible enough for his own car, and the added bonus of the money didn't hurt.

So he soldiered on, once a week, hovering high above the ground, monotonously washing windows until he had finished and then he stumbled back to his crappy dorm room at his campus, where he collapsed, damp from all the soapy water he had inevitably spilt on himself and slept his way through half of his Sunday.

Nearly one month in Stiles saw him for the first time. By then he was rather familiar with the entire building and had become accustomed to the different flats. In his boredom he had even made up stories for some of the occupants.

There was the lady on the 29th floor who always seemed to be in a hurry, even though it was a Saturday. She was always dressed in an immaculate suit but her hair flew wildly, somewhat ruining her attempted air of professionalism. Stiles imagined her working at a law firm, currently vying for a top position and therefore working so much overtime she was burning herself out. She probably worked so hard she had no social life and instead her life revolved around her work and she dedicated herself to becoming the best, the most successful, the most prestigious lawyer in all of America. Stiles hoped she achieved her goal.

There was a man on the 25nd floor that was always hunting for something, his wallet, his keys, phone, remote, it was always something. Stiles liked watching him hunt around, his face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to remember where he had last seen it. Most of all Stiles loved the look of triumph the man got every time he located the lost item, and he always turned to shoot Stiles a grin when he found it. It was highly amusing.

Floor 16 had a very large dog living there. The tag around his neck said his name was Scott, and he was always overjoyed to see Stiles. He would leap up towards the window, his large paws supporting him against the ledge, and pant happy breaths on the glass, tongue lolling out in a sort of adorable smile. Stiles would laugh and pat the glass as if he could reach through and stoke the dog's shaggy head, and then he would begin to wash the window, laughing as Scott scrabbled against the glass eagerly chasing the little droplets of water that streamed down from the top. After he was finished, he would often take a short break there and sit with Scott looking out over the street below and eat his lunch.

He was always sad to leave the 16th floor.

On floor 8 there were two little children who looked to be about 9 and 11. Every time Stiles cleaned their windows they would be curled on the couch under their duvets watching cartoons. After the first couple of times Stiles washed their windows, the kids noticed that he had a tendency to watch the cartoons on their screen with them. After that, whenever he washed their windows they turned on the subtitles for him.

But it wasn't until mid-October that he got a glimpse into the flat on the 22nd floor.

Stiles was innocently making his way down the 2nd side of the building, four hours having passed since his nine o'clock start. He knew from experience that the owner of the flat on the 22nd floor always had their blinds closed, or at least they had for the past five weeks he had been washing the building.

This Saturday was different.

The blinds were most definitely open, a large spacious living room visible through the one big window in the wall. It was decorated simply, a black leather sofa, a glass coffee table, a large plasma television hung on the wall with surround sound speakers connected. Off to one side there were several bookshelves piled high with DVDs, CDs, what appeared to be vinyl records (which would make sense because there was a vinyl player on a table across the room), and of course, stacks and stacks of books. However Stiles barely took in the awesomeness of the room.

He was more focused on the shirtless man doing push-ups in the middle of the floor. The very _hot_ shirtless man doing push-ups in the middle of the floor. Which very much appealed to the horny teenager side of Stiles that he had managed to retain even though he was now 20. Even from this distance, and through the still slightly dirty window glass, Stiles could tell that the man had abs like none he had ever seen before. Bar on television. And, of course, porn. So it is only fair that he stared at the clenching muscles, and the lines of sweat dripping down rippling flesh, and the broad shoulders that flexed with every push up. He may have stared for a while.

Then the man looked up.

His eyebrows creased drastically as he noticed Stiles in his window. He appeared to be puzzling out the situation in his mind, his arms still keeping him upright from the ground, seemingly without effort or conscious thought. A little bit of Stiles' overactive brain grouched about how unfair those impressive muscles were. Unsurprisingly, that side of his brain was completely drowned out by the side currently drooling over the turn of events.

Feeling awkward simply standing there staring at a man through a window, Stiles raised his hand in an imitation of a wave, brandishing his sponge in a weird attempt to offer an explanation for his being there. As if the platform suspended hundreds of feet above the ground wasn't a massive give away.

The man didn't wave back, or even acknowledge the wave; he simply continued to glare, because there really wasn't another word for the creepy, intense stare he currently had fixed on Stiles. And then, without breaking eye contact, the man slowly pushed himself to his feet. Stiles felt unable to do anything but watch as the god of a man picked up a towel from the back of the couch and dragged it across his face, removing the sweat beading on his forehead. Once that was done, he tossed the towel back onto the couch cushions and began to walk towards the window.

Noticing that his hand was still raised like a moron, Stiles lowered it and smiled at the approaching man, strange anticipation building in his chest, mixing with the nervousness gathering there. And as Stiles takes in the tightly knit eyebrows and the deep frown on the other man's face, he suddenly realises how utterly creepy this entire situation is.

He's waving, through a window, at a sweaty shirtless man, after watching him work out in his living room for a disturbing amount of time. It all screams crazy psycho stalker.

So yeah, he totally understands why the hot, broody stranger forcefully closes the blinds in his face.

Is it wrong that he's still incredibly turned on?

**So, this is a bit of a weird story I guess. I have no idea where it came from and only a vague idea of where it is going, but I'd really love to hear what you guys think so far. **

**Also, if it is not already abundantly clear, I have no idea what window washing entails. Probably not what it does in my story. Just go with it, that's what I plan to do.**

**Thanks for reading.**


	2. Apologies and Near Death Experiences

**Ahh, here we are, Chapter 2 of the weird window washing story. Don't ask me where the idea came from, it sounded good when I first thought of it. Oh well, too late to change it now so enjoy…**

The next few Saturdays that Stiles spends dangling from the building, he is met with closed curtains on the 22nd floor. He can't say he is surprised. Disappointed? Yes, weirdly so. Surprised? No. So he goes on like he did before, cleaning windows, talking to Scott (who was fast becoming his best friend because he is just so damn adorable) and generally exhausting himself for seven hours.

The third Saturday after the incident, the curtains are open.

For a minute Stiles thinks he must have counted wrong, but that's stupid because he recognises the furniture in the living room. There is no one visible through the window though, so Stiles assumes the curtains are open because there is nothing interesting (or hot) for him to spy on.

Half way through the first window a door off to the side of the apartment opens and Hot Man (the superhero with the power to turn anyone to mush with a single steamy glare) walks in. Stiles idly wonders if he even owns any shirts because once again the perfect, jealousy inducing abs are on full view. In fact the only thing the man_ is _wearing is a pair of low hanging pyjama pants, _very_ low hanging pyjama pants. His hair is all mussed up as well, like he's just woken up, and as Stiles watches, the man yawns and runs a hand through the thick locks, spiking them up even more. And he has to admit that even for a toned, kill-glare capable man, it's kind of adorable.

And ok. It may not be the best idea to be staring again. But Stiles had honestly forgotten just how hot the man was.

But that doesn't mean his lustful stares are appropriate, and he still needs to deal with the last time they encountered each other, so he shakes himself from his budding fantasies and steals himself to knock on the glass.

The window pane rattles as he raps on it three times, fast and short so that he doesn't chicken out. The man doesn't seem overly shocked by the noise, in fact he takes a long sip of his freshly brewed coffee before even turning around to see who had disturbed him. When he does, he doesn't look best pleased. Unfortunately for him the sleep ruffled look slightly undermines the angry murder-y vibe he seems to be going for, it's still pretty scary though.

Undeterred, Stiles grins brightly and beckons the man forward. He seems to consider before complying, which honestly Stiles wasn't really expecting. Still, he wasn't complaining. He just wanted a chance to apologise (and maybe hear the man talk a little bit, but who had to know that right?)

When the man was closer, Stiles pointed to the window latch and mimed opening it. The man didn't look impressed, and he shakes his head, mouth turned down at the edges. Stiles pouted and mouthed 'please' at the man, eyes wide and innocent in the way he _knows_ works on his dad.

There was a second where neither moved, and then the man stepped forward and unhooked the window latch. He didn't let it swing open far however, instead holding it so that there was only a centimetre of space between the window and the frame, as though he though Stiles might try to bust through and attack or maul him. And yeah, he might not be totally off the mark. The idea had occurred, just maybe not in the vicious manner the mystery man was envisioning.

Stiles cleared his throat and grinned in what he hoped was a friendly and not totally psychotic way.

'Hi, I'm Stiles. Well, no, actually that's a nickname because my real name is bad, and when I say bad I don't mean, 'oh that name is slightly embarrassing, I'd rather not have it', I mean 'my parents must have been high when they named me that'. Oh wait, no, my grandfather's parents because I'm named after him. Maybe it's a family name, I should ask my dad when I get home… oops, I'm rambling, I tend to do that when I'm nervous. Not that I'm nervous of course, why would I be, you seem like a cool guy, you didn't report me for peeping anyway which scores you serious points in my book. And yeah, I guess I kind of owe you an apology for that. The peeping thing, not the book thing. Although if you want me to apologise for thinking you're cool I can throw that in. Apologies in bulk I can do that. Let's do it. Ahem.

'Mysterious man of the 22nd floor, I apologise deeply for the aforementioned peeping that occurred three weeks ago. You're hot, I got distracted, it won't happen again. All I ask is that you continue with your discretion so that I can keep my job and prove to my dad that I am responsible enough to own a car without totalling it and killing myself. Thank you for your generosity and kindness in advance, and yeah, we cool?'

As he spoke he let a soapy hand run through his short hair, slightly disturbed by the other man's painful silence. It was a nervous tick of his, but normally it didn't result in bubbles dripping into his eyes and painfully blinding him. He tried to ignore it but as the stinging became unbearable, Stiles squeezed his eyes closed and pushed his fingers into the corners of his eyes to try and minimise the pain, wondering how much of an idiot he looked, hopping around clutching his face and letting out embarrassing little whines. However, he began to lose his balance due to the fidgeting and flailing and started to fall to one side.

Which isn't a brilliant idea when you are suspended above the ground on a metal platform with only a waist high barrier to protect you from falling to an untimely death. But every time he opened his eyes they teared up from the soap and he could see even less, and the stinging returned at double the intensity. The metal beneath his feet disappeared as he stumbled and he could feel himself falling, a squawk leaving his throat. His hands grappled for purchase but his fingers, slick with soap, slipped off of the bars.

This was it. This was how he was going to die. What would they tell his dad? Would his horrible name be on his gravestone? _Was_ it a family name? Oh god, he was too young to die. He had so much left to do, to see… Oh, shit, he was going to die a _virgin_. That's embarrassing. At least he wouldn't be bothering the hot man anymore.

Speaking of hot man.

A warm hand gripped the back of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. It wasn't exactly gentle, but that hardly mattered at that point. The touch seemed to linger, making sure he was stable, before the warmth left and Stiles was left blind and disorientated, but thankfully, very much alive, if slightly embarrassed over his accidental suicide attempt.

The feel of material dabbing at his face broke him out of his internal rambling about a minute later, and he realised that the man had returned at some point with a piece of cloth to clean out his eyes. He gratefully groped for the material, digging it in to remove all trace of the stinging substance, and sighing with relief when it was all gone. Blinking his eyes open carefully, Stiles took note of the dark blue dish towel he had clutched in his hand, before looking up to meet the intense stare of his saviour. He offered the towel back, which was then flung back into the apartment, seemingly with no actual destination in mind.

'Um, thanks again. That was a little unexpected wasn't it?'

Stiles laughed slightly, but the man was still frowning so he cut himself off self-consciously, for once at a loss of what to say. He bit his lip and fidgeted with his shirt sleeve very aware that the man was just staring at him. Was he even able to do anything else? Maybe he was mute.

'Derek.'

Ok so not mute then. And it was so unfair that his voice was a sexy as the rest of him. Some guys got all the luck didn't they?

'Huh?'

The man looked unimpressed with the less than eloquent response.

'Derek. My name is Derek.'

'Oh, ok then. Nice to meet you Derek. Good to finally put a name to the window. And thanks for saving my ass, falling from a suspended platform onto the very solid pavement below is… not how I want to die. Sounds painful – and messy. You're like a regular knight in shining armour, but that would make me the damsel and I'm not sure I want to be the damsel. Too much angsting in towers for my liking, a little ADHD mind like mine would burst if I was locked in a tower for life. Eugh, it's a cruel and unusual punishment don't you think, locked in a tower. Crazy fairy tales, the writers should receive serious psychiatric help,, of course the classic writers are dead so that won't do them any good now- '

A loud ringing noise interrupted his musings. It seemed to be coming from the phone on the island in the kitchen. Derek turned away from Stiles and strode over to answer it, rolling his shoulders as he went in a way that should be totally illegal as it made his muscles ripple obscenely and the saliva pool in Stiles' mouth.

The window was still open but Derek was talking so quietly that Stiles couldn't catch much of the conversation. Not that he was listening intentionally, he'd totally learnt his lesson from the other incident, and he was making almost progress with hot guy Derek, so no, he totally wasn't eavesdropping on him. God when did he become such a pervy creep that that even became an option. He made a mental note to analyse his life choices when he got home that night. He had a feeling it would take a while.

So, instead of eavesdropping he did what he was supposed to be doing and washed away the dirt and dried bugs from the glass with a practiced ease. As he was wringing out the sponge for the last time he glanced up at Derek. He was still on his mobile, sipping the coffee from earlier and leaning on a cabinet behind him as he nodded in response to whatever the other person was saying. Occasionally his mouth would move, forming words lost to Stiles' ears, but most of the time he seemed to be listening.

As if sensing eyes on him, Derek looked up. He met Stiles' gaze and quirked an eyebrow. Understanding the gesture to be an enquiry of what he wanted, Stiles mouthed out a 'thank you' and waved goodbye. He waited for a response, half expecting to be ignored. Last time his wave had not been well received if the curtains in his face were anything to go by, and he wasn't sure they had advanced that far beyond that point. He was pleasantly surprised when Derek nodded back. It wasn't much, barely perceivable as a response, but at least it wasn't a death glare.

That right there was Stiles liked to call progress. He only barely managed to stop himself from punching the air in celebration.

**Ok, so that's chapter two done for you guys. A bit of character development I guess, and some relationship development too. Hope you are enjoying the story, I'm really enjoying writing it. If I can I'll update again tomorrow, but I would love to hear your opinions so far, or criticisms, or even ideas of where to take this. **

**But if you can't be bothered I understand, I'm just happy you took the time to read it anyway. **

**xx**


	3. The Cold Snap

**Chapter 3 for the win! But not really… Hope it is ok. Read on lovely people.**

The weather took a dive on a Saturday in December. We're talking sub-zero temperatures where even the toughest of penguins would be wearing puffer jackets to fend off the icy wind. There was a weather warning on the news, the temperature so drastically low that it was potentially dangerous. The local lake had actually frozen over enough that walking through the park on the way to work (running late because his bed had just been so damn warm) Stiles could see young children and their parents skating about on the surface. Fighting back the stab of sorrow that accompanied memories of him and his mother skating together at the local ice rink every week until she had gotten too sick to go, he drew his coat closer to his shoulders and watched his exhaled air twist away from him in a puff of steam. He fervently wished he had thought to put on his old skiing thermals.

His job that day was actually painful.

Having forgotten his gloves, and thinking about it he wasn't sure he even owned gloves, his hands were red raw with cold before he even stepped onto the platform and began his ascent. After that he experienced a weird kind of torture, the warm soapy water being a blissful respite from the wind, but making it ten times worse when the cold air hit the drying water on his hands. Stiles pretty much went through the first three hours with a grimace etched permanently onto his face, and the windows only getting half clean because his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

By the time he reached Scott's floor, the dog was curled up on the ratty couch, snuggled under pillows and blankets as if he had created a nest and then buried himself in it. Hearing Stiles at the window, Scott raised his shaggy head in curiosity but made no effort to move. Some of the cushions moved, presumably being jostled by a wagging tail, but the rest stayed where they were, armour protecting the little dog from the bitter wind. He smiled at Scott, glad his friend was happy and warm even if he was a little jealous, and Scott seemed to smile back before returning to a fitful slumber curled up in his cushy nest.

That day Stiles didn't eat his lunch with Scott, instead he worked through his lunch break, eager to finish and get home. He hadn't even had time for his caffeine pick-me-up that morning which was just the icing on the awful that was his day.

It was about four o'clock when he reached Derek's floor.

By that time he was so cold he was working on auto pilot. His cheeks were numb, his bones frozen and his hands stinging uncomfortably. He just settled into a rhythm and retreated into the warm fuzziness of his over active mind (and who was going to know that that mind had been working overtime on the resident of that exact floor who had been comparatively nicer to him since the day he had dubbed the 'awkward apology and near death experience' day, waving back whenever he saw Stiles, talking to him in friendly monosyllables when he could be bothered to participate in a conversation, remaining shirtless whenever they were in each other's company). But no, that was a bad path to go down when he had only just met the guy roughly a month before, and their… friendship was tentative at best. For god's sakes, he was just Derek's _window cleaner_, he probably wasn't even classed as a friend in the other man's mind. Just the chatty, dorky window cleaner who is dangerous to himself and everyone around him and can be good for a couple minutes of mindless chatter to break up a day of sexy brooding. Yeah, just his window cleaner, his very _co__ld _window cleaner… who really should go back to washing windows and not daydreaming about unobtainables. Yes, wash the windows, all the better to see the muscles through. Dip sponge in bucket, put sponge on window, squeegee window, rinse and repeat. Eventually, after what seemed like hours spent on the same window, he lost himself in the rhythm, most likely succumbing to frostbite. Because of that he was kind of shocked when the window he was working on opened inwards abruptly. He stumbled slightly, bracing himself on the safety bar, and looked up to meet Derek's eyes.

For once the man wasn't glaring (which despite the budding friendship still seemed to be his default); in fact he looked almost concerned. Thinking about it though, Stiles imagined he looked a mess, shivering, flushed pink, and grimacing in pain, so Derek probably had a reason to be vaguely concerned, any decent person would be. Derek on the other hand looked just as good as always, although he was wearing a shirt for once, a dark blue button up over dark jeans. It was almost unfair how well something that simple suited him. Feeling a little subconscious about the state he was in, Stiles ducked his head into the collar of his jumper, shivering slightly as his cold chin touched his comparatively scalding chest.

The shiver seemed to be a trigger of some kind because next thing Stiles knew he was being dragged through the window, off of his platform, and into a gloriously warm apartment. Disorientated, he heard the window slam shut and let himself be propelled forward further into the room. Derek indicated towards the leather couch in the middle of the living room area before stalking off towards the kitchen without saying a word and tinkering around with something Stiles couldn't be bothered to see.

Too cold to care about manners, plus it would be rude to ignore Derek's instruction, he settled down on the couch, kicked off his shoes, pulled his knees up to his chin and tucked his hands under his armpits. He let his eyes fall closed and exhaled a happy sigh just as Derek reappeared in front of him.

'Drink this.' He ordered before disappearing again.

Stiles stared at the mug that had been thrust into his hands. It burned slightly against his skin but he couldn't bring himself to care. Raising the cup to his lips, he took a cautious sip, moaning deeply as the warmth of the coffee slipped down his throat and pooled in his stomach. Taking larger gulps that burned his tongue, he quickly finished off the drink and placed the mug onto one of the coasters that littered the glass coffee table, before once again reclining into the warm leather. And good _lord_ that was a glorious smell, the musk of leather mixing with something unnameable to form a scent rivalling all others.

Finally, his wits having returned to him once he'd settled in, Stiles quickly realised that he wasn't quite sure what was going on, up until then he had just kind of gone with the flow, done what he was told because he had been so cold he was acting on autopilot. So now, with his brain fully functioning again, he had to admit he was a bit lost. Sure he appreciated this unexpected kindness and he wasn't exactly opposed to it coming from Derek, but he also hadn't known that this was even a possibility, so he was a little thrown. They had barely got past first name basis and yet here he was, reclined on Derek's couch after being pulled in through his _window_ like Peter Pan. He wasn't _that_ experienced at this job but he was pretty sure this wasn't the norm. He wasn't sure it was even allowed.

Derek came back a few minutes later armed with a blanket and tomato soup on a tray and interrupted his internal freak out. He chucked the blanket at Stiles' head, waiting briefly for him to arrange it over himself, before depositing the tray onto his lap. Then, without a word he sat down next to Stiles, turned on the television and lost himself in whatever sports game was on. His stomach growling pleadingly at the smell of the soup, Stiles grabbed the spoon and began to inhale the food like a man dying of starvation. Apart from a few curious glances from Derek, most likely in response to the moans he was making (what? It was good soup and he was hungry), Stiles was mainly left alone to eat his fill.

After he was done with the soup, Stiles put the tray on the coffee table next to his empty cup and snuggled back under the blanket, pulling it up where it had slipped during his meal. His eyes were heavy and he found he was exhausted from the torture of the day. Before he knew it he was sinking into a fitful sleep, head lolled to the side, mouth hanging slightly open, and body curled up, blissfully warm and comfortable.

Half an hour later he was jostled awake. The cushion his head was resting on was being moved and Stiles whined at it, burying his head into it in an effort to make it stop. That was the exact moment he remembered where he was. He also remembered that, as nice as the couch was, he didn't remember it having any cushions.

Jolting upright his eyes widened in alarm when he found Derek smirking down at him from where he was lying across his lap. His _lap_. The same lap, with the same thighs Stiles had just _nuzzled_ in his sleep addled state. Could it get more embarrassing than that? Wait, he didn't want to know the answer to that. Where he was involved it was usually yes.

'Sorry to wake you, my ass was falling asleep.' It was weird to hear a complete sentence from Derek, that wasn't being angrily (and sexily) growled at him. Weird, but nice.

'Oh, yeah, no, totally ok dude. Sorry to fall asleep like that, long day you know, and it's just so god damn warm in here that my brain was all 'time to sleep Stiles,' and so yeah… I slept. How long have I been out?'

Derek chuckled, and oh, that was a nice sound.

'Only half an hour, I was going to wake you up soon anyway. I'm guessing you've got to go back to work at some point.'

Stiles nodded and began to get up, just about managing to refrain from nuzzling into the warm thigh under his cheek again, because god _knows_ what the reaction would be to something as inappropriate as that. He'd seen Derek shirtless, he knows he's muscled; he could most definitely rip of Stiles' head with very little effort if he was inclined to do so. He folded the blanket and hung it over the arm of the couch before gesturing to the coffee table.

'Where should I put those?'

Following the direction Stiles' hand was pointing, Derek shrugged.

'Don't worry about it, I'll clean up. You need help getting back through the window?'

Stiles shook his head as he wandered away from the couch and hoisted himself up and out of the window, luckily without incident that time. Turning back towards the window he started as he came face to face with Derek who had followed him over to the windows and was now standing on the other side of the frame. Stiles smiled at him.

Derek smiled back.

It was a good smile, the first proper smile Stiles had seen on Derek's face. One that was full of teeth and that reached his eyes. And it did really embarrassing things to Stiles' heartbeat.

'Have you got any requests for food next time?'

'Next time?' Stiles asked, or rather squeaked, eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

'Yes, next time. If you want. I figure you wash my windows, I should do something in return.'

'You do know I get paid right? I don't do this for fun.'

Derek snorted, but considered his response for a minute.

'Ok. Then think of this as a… bonus. Free lunch and company. And alright, I'm not the best company but it's got to beat sitting on the edge of a metal platform inhaling stale sandwiches alone, right?'

Stiles opened his mouth the respond with a sarcastic comment, but he realised that 'actually no, I eat my lunch while hanging out with the dog upstairs' didn't really make the point he wanted.

And when Derek added quietly and somewhat reluctantly 'I really wouldn't mind the company,' Stiles realised he really didn't want to say no.

So instead, he nodded, smiled and requested bacon and eggs.

And then, because he was all about pushing boundaries for no real reason other than the fact that he was impatient, he spur of the moment pulled Derek into a hug (the window frame still between them making the angle incredibly awkward) as they were saying goodbye, but Derek was nice and comfortable, and he smelt really good, so it wasn't really that disastrous at all. And even though Derek remained stiff in his grasp the entire time, he didn't pull away so that was a plus.

Plus there was the added bonus that he had this weird happy warmth inside of him every time he thought about the hug, for the rest of the day. The cold didn't really bother him after that.

**Ah, look they are becoming friends. Sweet. Hope you enjoyed it, and you guys that have been reviewing are awesome and I love you. Thank you so much. Much love to you all. **

**New chapter tomorrow.**


	4. Christmas Magic

**More story for you lovely lovely people. Have fun.**

This pattern continued in this way for the next couple of weeks. The weather warmed slightly but it was still chilly, which made Stiles' job less than pleasant, but he couldn't help looking forward to his lunches with Derek.

He still wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he was way past caring by this point. If the hot personal trainer, which was what Derek did for a living hence the working out, wanted his company every Saturday, then who was he to complain? Basically, he just loved the fact that it was happening and he was trying to just leave it at that. That whole saying about gift horses and looking them in the mouths sprung to mind.

His subconscious however couldn't help kind of fantasising over the new aspect of his life, and it was safe to say that Lydia Martin, the super-hot cheerleader at his university, had been replaced in his night time happy dreams, by someone decidedly more masculine. Don't get him wrong, he wasn't suddenly having a homosexual awakening, no that had happened when he was about 15 and realised he spent as much time checking out the football player's muscles as he did the cheerleader's legs. But his little obsession with Lydia had overpowered thoughts of all others up until Derek, and now his subconscious was replacing soft and curvy with hard and smooth, and he couldn't say he really cared. After all, it wasn't like Lydia would ever be a viable option for him.

Not that Derek was either.

But at least Derek acknowledged his existence, and fed him, and put up with him. So yeah, he had secured himself top dog position in the Stiles Stilinski sexual fantasy table. Somehow Stiles didn't think that this was information he was going to be sharing all that soon. He liked his limbs attached.

But other than the pining, he really enjoyed their time together. They mainly watched sports together, but they talked in the breaks, and he found out that Derek was a pretty decent guy. Much more than a pretty face anyway.

He was 24, 4 years older than Stiles, and was a personal trainer. And judging by his apartment, a very expensive and successful one. He had one sister, Laura, who bugged the hell out of him just because, as his sister, she had the right to, but he obviously loved her anyway. He grew up in a small unknown town further north and his parents still live there so he visits sometimes, mainly for holidays and birthdays, but his job keeps him busy so he doesn't visit as much as he might have liked to. It is obvious family means an awful lot to him.

In return Stiles tells him about his dad, his mom's death (which he skims over, she died when he was 11 but the wounds are still fresh, always will be he suspects), his university and his double major in forensic science and mythology. He tells Derek about the deal he made with his dad that he would get a car for his 21st if he could prove himself responsible enough for one. Hence the job that led them to this unusual friendship. He really wanted the car.

Neither discusses romance. It just doesn't come up.

And after each Saturday, Stiles can see Derek loosen up more and more, as he begins to feel more comfortable around Stiles, and that realisation does funny, glowy things to Stiles' inside, but that's all internal and invisible, and on the outside he is cool and calm and basically and awesome buddy. Because Derek is intimidating at first but actually really cool, and he deserves to have friends as amazing as Stiles. Stiles had a feeling he didn't have many for some reason.

So friends it is. He can live with that. Or at least he can resign himself to that because he has done the pining thing and he has no desire to go back to that after it took him so long to escape it. Not when he doesn't even know if Derek is gay, straight, or bisexual, or hell even if he is _in a relationship_ already. And he feels awkward asking, so he decides to let it go and stare from a distance, blushing whenever he is caught, and unable to discern the look on Derek's face when he does.

But it all changes at Christmas. Because Christmas is a wonderful, magical time of year.

Well actually it's the 23rd of December because Christmas was on a Monday that year. But whatever, it's_ around_ Christmas.

Like every Saturday now Stiles works through his allocated lunch break and cleans the whole of one side of the building and half of Derek's side before he reaches the man in question's window. Then he cleans his windows before waiting for Derek to let him in. It normally doesn't take long because Derek, for some unknown reason, likes to watch as he washes his windows so he's there, waiting, when Stiles finishes.

And like every week, he then climbs through the window into the now familiar living room and plonks himself down on what he has now designated as _his_ side of the couch and switching on the TV, while Derek brings through whatever dish he has decided to make that week. It turns out that he is actually a very accomplished cook, and as a man that loves primarily through his stomach, Stiles can't help but add that to the 'why Derek is the perfect man for me' list he has been subconsciously concocting in his mind. It is scarily long, but then again most of it is just his brain waxing lyrical about his muscles and his super intense eyes, so that may cut down the list's credibility a little bit.

They switch to a women's basketball game, and it's a testament to how hot Derek really is and how far gone Stiles is by that point, because Stiles finds himself more focussed on the man beside him, sucking spaghetti into his mouth in a way that should be completely disgusting but actually makes Stiles cross his knees to disguise his… problem, than the basketball game full of Amazonian beauties in criminally short shorts. God, he is so screwed, and not even in the fun way.

When exactly did he become life's bitch?

But then Derek is asking about his Christmas plans, and telling him about his family's plans, and whining about seeing Laura again but with this kind of adorable little smile that tells Stiles that he is actually really excited to see Laura as she has been in China for a year and is finally coming back to the US. He loves this side of Derek, the funny, chatty side that Stiles had to coax out very slowly over the first few weeks. But apparently once it is out it is staying out, not that Stiles is complaining because a chatty Derek is a friendly Derek, and that is never a bad thing, and as an added bonus this friendly side of Derek also turned out to be incredibly tactile around Stiles.

But maybe _friendly_ wasn't the correct word.

Stiles had taken to washing the dishes whenever he went round. He felt a little bad that Derek fed him every week and this was his way of paying him back, even though Derek had insisted he left it alone the first few weeks. He should have known that no one can defeat a Stilinski in battle when they put their minds to something.

So yeah, he washes up after they eat together. It's all very domestic.

But it is as he climbs out of the window again that he notices it. Something brushing his head.

He climbs down fully before he turns, partly to check what touched him, and partly to say goodbye to Derek. As expected Derek was standing very close to the window, Stiles had learnt he had no concept of personal space whatsoever, but he unexpectedly looked a little, dare he say it… nervous.

And that makes no sense because this is the same routine as every Saturday. They say goodbye, Derek closes his window and sits back down on the couch half watching the game, but still a little focussed on Stiles, Stiles moves over to the controls and toggles himself up to the next floor, waving until he can't see Derek or his barely there smile anymore, and then he starts wishing for the next Saturday to get a move on, his little teenage girl heart pounding in his chest. It is monotonous and maybe a little unhealthy, but it is routine so it doesn't make sense for Derek to be nervous.

But oh. That makes a lot more sense.

Stiles noticed something hanging from the window frame he had just climbed through, something that hadn't been there before, the same something that had brushed his head as he climbed out of the room. Something small and green and undeniably plant like.

Namely, a single sprig of mistletoe.

And it takes a minute for Stiles to puzzle the pieces together but he does eventually manage, and when he has made all the necessary connections he realises three things:

One, Derek must have hung the mistletoe while he was washing up, two that that was the reason Derek was looking so completely nervous. And three, and most importantly, he obviously wanted to kiss Stiles. And wait, what? He wanted to _kiss_ Stiles? Yeah, that's right, _Derek Hale_ wanted to kiss _Stiles Stilinski_, and oh, his life just got 50 times better.

Derek noticed Stiles staring at the plant suspended between them and tentatively reached out towards Stiles, probably giving Stiles time to move away if he wanted, but hell if Stiles was going to do that. Instead he smiled in encouragement and let Derek cup his cheek with his hand, before responding to Derek's subtle hint and leaning forward, eyes closing in anticipation.

Lips met lips.

Briefly. Very briefly. Too briefly. Not even long enough for Stiles to properly respond or see fireworks, or melt, or any of that clichéd nonsense he had imagined in his first kiss with Derek.

And then Derek was gone, the window was shut, and the smug bastard was grinning smugly from the other side.

Stiles growled, which judging from Derek's laugh he heard, but he didn't care, there was no way that that was acceptable as a first kiss. He tapped on the window and raised an eyebrow silently asking the question 'what the hell was that?' Derek chuckled and cracked the window slightly.

'I was seeing if you would be open to my idea for your present. If you're good you'll get the rest next week.' There was a pause, and then, 'Merry Christmas Stiles.'

And with that he closed the window, winked, turned on the spot, and strutted away into his bedroom, hips swinging subtly in the most god damn frustrating way.

And god, Stiles was a complete goner. He couldn't wait until next Saturday.

**They are in loooooove. And yes, I am a complete child on the inside. But we all know that there is going to be hiccups in the road to come. I'm sorry in advance for that. I hope you are all enjoying the story, you've all been lovely with your feedback. More maybe later tonight, or tomorrow at the latest.**


	5. The Other Woman

**So, from the reviews I've been getting, I just want to say… Please don't kill me for doing this.**

It had been a long, difficult and _infuriating_ week, and Stiles knew exactly who was to blame for that. Because the walking, talking, _glaring_ Adonis that was Derek Hale had not left his mind for 6 sexually frustrating days, and that was starting to take a significant toll on his mental health.

And his school work.

Because it was unbelievably hard to concentrate on mythology and the like when your overactive imagination was conjuring up all sorts of probably semi illegal fantasies that were only getting more and more disturbing (and appealing) as the week wore on. God he hoped that Derek was at least half as kinky as he apparently was otherwise things could get awkward. Well, if nothing else, at least he knew he had a healthy sex drive now.

And then, _finally_, Saturday arrived, and Stiles got to work an hour early, cleaned twice as fast and half as well as normal, didn't stop for lunch, risked a brief chat with Scott (because he wasn't rude or heartless enough to ignore the adorable puppy face Scott gave him), and made sure to clean every window except for Derek's, leaving his for last.

Finally he lowered himself down to Derek's window, brimming with an embarrassing amount of anticipation. Hid ADHD was acting up, the added excitement making it impossible to stay still for long, his heart was hammering in his chest so loudly that he could practically hear it, and his mind was racing.

When he reached the correct floor he looked in. Derek wasn't in the sitting room, and although he could only see a bit of the kitchen, he didn't appear to be there either. Shrugging to himself, after all he had come later than usual so that he could stay as long as he was welcome; taking a deep, steadying breath, Stiles poised his hand to knock.

Before he could however, the door to Derek's bedroom opened. Stiles dropped his hand and grinned brightly, waiting for the man himself to emerge.

He didn't.

Instead, a woman emerged, wrapped only in a loose towel, her hair dripping down her back. As she walked she looked over her shoulder towards the door she had just left, before throwing her head back and laughing, little droplets scattering from the ends of her hair. When Derek poked his head out of the room, clothed only in his pyjama bottoms, his chest and hair damp as well, and offered the strange woman a playful wink before darting away from her arm as it swung for him, Stiles felt the dread start to pool in his stomach.

He watched, frozen, as Derek walked over to the woman and pulled her into a hug, kissing her forehead with a gentleness that Stiles had never seen the other man use. He was well aware of the time and effort he had had to use to get the other man to open up, to relax around him, and yeah, it was possible that he had started to think himself special for being the person who was able to bring that side of him out when he was so closed off around others. Now he realised he's been lying to himself. Maybe Derek just hadn't liked him from the beginning. That was why he had had to try so hard to bring out the kinder side. It wasn't Derek, it was him.

So… Pretty much the story of his life, right? He'd never been able to charm Lydia, never been able to convince Danny to even give him the time of day, hell he barely had any friends to speak of. He had Isaac his roommate, and Scott the dog, and that was it. People just didn't like him, didn't get him, couldn't understand that his hyperactivity and sarcasm were just _who he was_. He had thought that maybe Derek understood, as he himself was hidden under a layer of prickly asshole, but maybe Derek hadn't understood well enough. He'd probably gotten bored, or decided that kissing Stiles had been underwhelming and shouldn't be done again. And come on, even through the window Stiles could see that the woman was way more in Derek's league than he could ever hope to be. He was lucky to have even _gotten_ a kiss. He was stupid to think he'd get more.

It wasn't like he didn't understand it, there was a reason he was 20 and still a virgin, and there was only so long he could blame that on being slightly prudish as a teenager and sexually ambiguous for a majority of said teenage years. He just wasn't one of the desirable people, he should probably stop falling for them. Stiles couldn't help but think it was sadly too late for that.

And as he watched the two embrace, ridiculous tears stinging his eyes, he realised that he had to leave now, before he broke down, before Derek saw him. In short, he just had to get the hell out of there.

He toggled the controls, eyes still fixed on Derek and the woman, still holding each other loosely but separated enough that they could talk easily. He just couldn't look away, far too aware that the scene mimicked some of his tamer fantasies way too closely. Only there had been no woman there, and he himself had not been on the verge of tears.

Eventually he gave up and turned towards the control panel and finally managed to hit the right buttons and began to descend, the metal platform moving far too slowly for his liking. Damn health and safety, he just wanted to get _away_. Away from the sickening display in front of him that was affecting him _way_ more than it probably should have considering he had only known Derek about three months. Away from Derek. And away from that stupid, man stealing, cock blocking, heart breaking, whore.

Who, he realised as he looked back in through the window, was now looking straight at Stiles.

Laura's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she took in the skinny boy disappearing from the window. Only his head and shoulders were visible to her, but his eyes were staring daggers at her. And ok, that was not normally the reaction she got from boys when she was only in a towel, but whatever.

But the strangest thing was that the boy looked to be on the verge of crying, his face heart breakingly stricken and eyes blinking rapidly as if to ward off the onslaught of tears. She watched as he continued to descend, as his eyes slipped shut and stayed that way, as his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. And finally a single tear slipped from his closed eye lid.

And then he was gone.

'Derek,' Laura queried, her eyes still fixed on the empty window. He grunted in response, bending to pick up some paper that had fallen to the floor and return it to the counter.

'Where you expecting someone today?'

He looked up suddenly, eyeing her with suspicion.

'Maybe. Why do you ask?' His response was measured, carefully emotionless, and altogether very very Derek. And if she hadn't realised it before, she now knew that there was something she was missing. She just didn't know what.

'There was a boy at the window,' Derek stiffened and stood up, glancing towards the now vacant window, eyes wide and panicky.

'I only noticed him as he was leaving but he looked like he was close to tears when he saw us, and angry as well. Who is he?... _Derek_?'

Laura watched as her brother sprinted towards the window, tore it open and stuck his head out. And at that moment Laura realised what she had missed, she understood what she hadn't quite grasped before. Because as she listened to her brother shout and scream the same name that he had enthused about to her and her entire family over the entire Christmas holiday back home, as she took in his crushed face and remembered the excitement and contentness that had radiated off of him for the first time since he was 16 and that bitch Kate Argent had broken his heart, she realised that it was happening again.

She had been so surprised to see the old Derek when she had returned from China, to see the un-shuttered Derek, the pre-Kate Derek back again and falling for someone new. She'd wanted to find this _Stiles_, draw him into a hug and thank him over and over for bringing back the Derek she'd known as a child. The one she'd thought she'd lost. And now she was losing him again, to a misunderstanding, a stupid mistake, a stupid _fucking_ failure of communication. And she was terrified. She knew all too well that when Derek loved, he loved with his entire heart, and when it broke, so did he. God, he'd barely survived the first time…

But no. –Her eyes snapped open from where they had closed earlier and she walked over to where he brother was still fruitlessly screaming out the window, placing a hand on his shoulder-

_No_. This time she refused. Refused to sit idly by and watch her brother burn.

This time she would do more than sit by and watch, more than cover the wounds and hope they healed by themselves. And she knew it would probably be hard work, Derek's love life was a disaster of epic proportions.

But by God, she was going to make sure her brother got his happy ending this time, even if it killed her.

**Yeah, so I realise I skipped the honeymoon period after the kiss, but I promise you will get it eventually. After all, Laura is on the case now and she is nothing if not a BAMF. So worry not readers.**

**Also I just wanted to clarify, I wasn't sure if it was clear enough, that**** Derek and Laura had had **_**separate**_** showers, but Stiles had assumed they had showered together because he hadn't known they were siblings and his self-deprecation led him to jump to conclusions. I know some people write incest, I can't say I'm one of them. **

**Other than that, thank you for reading.**


	6. Missing You

**I'm afraid this chapter is not much happier…**

The week had been awful for Stiles. He had moped and bitched and, when he was sure no one was watching, properly broken down and sobbed. He knew that it was probably ridiculous to be so upset, so crushed over a guy that he had known maybe 3 months, but he'd obviously gotten more attached than he had thought. Seeing Derek had become a highlight of his week and now he was dreading the coming Saturday, because best case scenario was Derek was not there, or his blinds were closed.

Worst case scenario was he acted like nothing happened. Completely ignored the fact he had killed Stiles inside. Like he didn't unintentionally toy with Stiles' pathetic useless heart and then toss it back to him when he was done. Oh no, wait, the worst scenario would be if that _woman_ was still there. If he had to sit next to her, watch them cuddle and laugh and joke. Stiles isn't known for his rationality, hence his rather disturbing amount of possessiveness towards a man who had absolutely no romantic feelings for him, but he was pretty sure that if he had to stomach a lovey dovey make out session between the guy he liked and the guy's perfect girlfriend, he was going to punch something. Probably her. And his inner gentleman really wasn't all that cool with that.

And of course, all this inner angst took up a lot of his free time, hence the suffering school work, and eventually spilt onto the surface around Thursday, all messy and over the top, and Isaac, poor long suffering Isaac, finally stepped up to the plate and fulfilled his roommate duties. So that was how Stiles ended up at a bar at midnight on a Friday armed with a fake ID, drinking cheap beer till the world went fuzzy round the edges, then downing shots to top it off.

In the end it was around 4 in the morning when Isaac pulled Stiles back into their dorm room, bidding farewell to Erica and Boyd who were stumbling back down the hallway, laughing raucously and trying to remember where the hell they lived. By this point Stiles was way beyond hammered and dangerously close to the alcohol poisoning mark, so Isaac, who was only a little more sober, had to remove his shoes and socks for him, shuck off his jacket and pull a plastic bowl from a cupboard in case Stiles couldn't make it to the bathroom when he woke up and inevitably needed to throw up the copious amounts of alcohol he had inhaled in his grief.

He patted his friend's head as he mumbled sleepily about stubble and abs and stupid whores who steal soul mates, and, for about the 50th time that night, he cursed Derek Hale, whoever the fuck he was, for screwing over his friend. Sure Stiles was annoying sometimes, and yeah, he did not _shut the hell up_, I mean even now when he was _asleep _he was still content to go on muttering unsavoury things about the woman who stole what seemed to be the love of Stiles' life from the intensity of his grief, but he was a good guy, and he did not deserve the extra angst in his life.

But that was a subject for another day. A more _sober_ day, because Isaac was fading fast and he wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere and sleep till the budding headache wore off. And his bed was so far away, all the way on the other side of the room. But Stiles' was right there and looking so warm and cozy and comfortable. And, fuck it, he figured he'd deal with it tomorrow.

With his though process ending there, Isaac climbed over Stiles' passed out body, sandwiched himself between the wall and Stiles' warmth, and began to doze off.

Obviously in their drunken states, neither had thought to close the blinds in their room, so Stiles was woken by some very insistent rays of sunlight scorching through his eyelids. And of course, because he had never been the most graceful of people, he instinctively flailed in an attempt to cover his eyes, and elbowed a snoring Isaac in the face.

'Dude, what was that for?'

Stiles ignored him in favour of searching his pockets for his mobile. Pulling it out he tapped out his password and stared blankly at the screen.

14:07

'Shit, shit, shitshitshit.' He babbled as he sprung out of bed. Then, because it was incredibly unwise to move quite so violently when hung over, he then proceeded to double over and throw up in the container Isaac had set out the night before.

'You alright man?' Isaac asked, snickering into Stiles' pillow and spreading himself out on the now roomier bed.

'I am so dead. Isaac it's ten past two. I was meant to be at work 5 hours ago. Oh, Finstock is going to kill me, and my dad is never going to buy me a car, and, oh _god_, Derek's going to think I'm avoiding him.'

'You_ are_ avoiding him. At least that was your plan last night.'

Stiles pulled the pillow out from under Isaac's face and hit him with it. When the one sided pillow fight stopped, Isaac rolled over and grinned at the scowl on Stiles' face.

'And anyway, your birthday is on Monday, this would have been your last week anyway. If your dad was going to get you a car for your 21st then he'd have already bought it for you. So seriously stop freaking out, you're fine. All you've succeeded in doing is preventing a very awkward conversation with a guy you are pretty much in love with. I feel it's a total win win.'

Stiles nodded slowly. It was true. It had been his last Saturday on the job, and he'd done all the others without fail so he could probably claim a sick day without any bother. And Isaac was right, avoiding Derek was probably for the best, after this they would never have to see each other again. Out of sight out of mind, and he could really do with having Derek out of mind for a little while at least. The pining just hurt.

It was probably all for the best anyway.

'Hey Stiles, you want to go to the diner across the street? I could really use cheesy chips to chase off this hang over, man my head is _pounding_.'

Patting his pocket to check his wallet was still there, Stiles nodded. Hot, black coffee sounded good. No hazelnut though. That phase was over.

He just wished it didn't hurt so much to see it go.

**SxD**

Derek sat on his couch staring out of the window, hope fading with each passing minute. He'd been sitting in the same spot for the past 2 hours, refusing to move in case he missed Stiles. He knew he would come eventually. He had to. So Derek waited.

Laura entered the room from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and frowning sadly at her brother. Derek had asked her to make Mac and Cheese, the special way she always did, and her famous brownies, because he was certain that Stiles would love it. She hadn't had the heart to refuse, and she'd wanted to do everything she could to help right what she had inadvertently wronged. But that had been hours ago, and now it was almost five o'clock and the boy had yet to make an appearance.

'Derek?' He looked over to where she was standing.

'I don't think he's coming Derek. It's five o'clock. Maybe we should eat without him, the food's getting cold.'

Instead of answering he glanced at his watch, brows furrowing as he realised she was telling the truth and that Stiles probably wasn't coming. He stood slowly, dusting off his jeans, before turning swiftly and storming over to his bedroom door without a word. The resulting _slam_ was enough to shake the entire building and Laura flinched, more out of sadness at the look of rejection on his face than the actual noise.

At a loss of what to do she went back into the kitchen, put the food into Tupperware containers after doling herself a portion, and then drifted towards the seat Derek had vacated and resuming his silent vigil.

Just in case Stiles came back.

**This hurt me to write. I'm sorry, so sorry. Just bear with me a little longer please. **


	7. The Super's Help

**This is kind of like a filler chapter. Just to get me from the last one to the next one with some semblance of believability.**

Laura knocked on the faded brown wood of the door. Three short sharp raps on the surface, before taking a step back and waiting for an answer. Her leg jiggled in impatience as the seconds stretched on, but eventually the door swung inwards and she came face to face with a man, probably in his 40s, dressed in a blue jumpsuit and tool belt, and looking decidedly pissed off at being disturbed.

Of course, she didn't miss the hint of interest when he saw her though, and while it was a little creepy, she realised that she might be useful to able to flirt the information out of the man as a plan B. Plan A was to charm his grimy little socks off.

'Hi, I'm Laura, my brother lives in apartment 22b. You're Mr Finstock right? The building's super?'

She held out her hand politely, forcing down a grimace as his hand took hers, his palm covered in something vaguely sticky. She _really_ didn't want to know what that was.

'Yep, that's me. What can I help you with ma'am?'

He smiled at her, in what she assumed was meant to be an alluring way, and it might have been alright, but the whole image was ruined by the piece of spinach caught between his front teeth. Holding on to her manners she coughed lightly and subtly gestured to his teeth, and was relieved to see him take the hint and remove the spinach, obviously a little embarrassed at being caught with it. Not wanting the man to fester in his embarrassment, Laura powered on.

'Well, first off I was wondering if it was you who hired the window washing boy?'

He let out a sigh and ran his hand through his hair.

'What did the dumbass do? Write rude words on your window? Ask for tips? Spy on you while changing?'

He seemed to get a little excited at the last one, but coughed to cover any inappropriateness that was trying to bubble out. He raised an eyebrow, clearly an invitation for her to carry on with her complaint.

'Oh no. Nothing like that I assure you. Actually quite the opposite. He and my brother have become quite good friends over the weeks he's worked here and I was just wondering when he was scheduled to be back in. He didn't turn up yesterday, and there is something we really need to talk about. It's pretty urgent, I fear the more time it's left to fester the worse the fall out will be.'

Shuffling back into his office, Finstock pulled a file off of his frankly disgusting desk, before returning to where Laura was standing. She _refused_ to step foot in that office, the smell alone was enough to make her want to turn tail and run. But no, this was for Derek, and, as much as she loved him, he wasn't that good company when he was sulking in his room. She really just wanted to hang out with him again like they did when they were kids, but that wasn't going to happen when he was so utterly heartbroken, so she knew she had to fix it for him. He would have done the same for her. Probably with more fists and less charm, but whatever, semantics.

Finstock cleared his throat.

'Ok, let's see. Stilinski, that's his name. Stiles Stilinski. God, what a ridiculous name. Who names their kid that? What is he, son of a famous person, they all have the weirdest names don't you think?' Laura nodded, mainly out of courtesy than actual agreement. 'Aha, here we go. Oh. Yeah it looks like he wasn't in yesterday, took a sick day I suppose. And yesterday was actually scheduled to be his last day on the job. New kid coming in next week to pick up some extra dimes, that's going to be loads of fun for me. The Stilinski kid was fairly good at his job, never bothered me in my office, never got complaints about peeping, it's a real shame to lose him. We've had some right creepy kids washing the windows over the years, it's always sad to see a good one go. Anyway, hoped that helped sweetheart.'

'Wait, wait ,wait. He's not coming back? As in, never?'

Finstock looked confused at the panicky edge to her voice, and glanced down at the notes in his hand to double check.

'Uh yeah, it says here he turns 21 tomorrow. My guess is he was working up until his birthday for some reason. Normally to prove something to the parents. I'd hoped he'd stay on but I guess he doesn't really need the job anymore. You alright love, you look like you're about to cry.'

She was about to cry. The frustration was just unbearable. It was all just so unfair. The first time her brother finds someone he likes enough to actually pull down his walls and fall head over heels in love with, the fates mess it all up and disappear him off the face of the bloody earth. How was that fair? And to top it all off, in his sad attempt at wooing, Derek hadn't even mustered the courage to ask for Stiles' number, so he was a complete dead end as well. That seemed to be all she was getting, dead ends. She ran her hand through her hair, for once not giving a shit if she messed it up. How the hell was she supposed to help fix this problem, if she couldn't catch a break?

'Hey lady.' Finstock's voice broke through her angry rantings, his eyes wide and worried at the semi mental breakdown Laura was having in front of him.

'I guess if you really need to get in touch with him, I've got a phone number and address you can have. He doesn't technically work here anymore so I suppose the employer employee privilege thing doesn't really apply anymore, and you really seem to need it. Plus you're hot and kind of freaking me out with this melt down you seem to be doing, so I'll bend the rules this once, just for you cupcake.'

He leered and winked, smirking and with an eyebrow cocked, but he said nothing more and instead shuffled the sheets in his hands, looking for one in particular. He made a triumphant noise as he found it, and passed it over with the instructions to jot down what she needed and then return the paper to him.

She gratefully did as she was told, noting that the address listed was that of a dorm in the local university which made sense as the little she understood from Derek's brooding grumbles, Stiles was double majoring in mythology and forensic science. She guessed he was probably a little… quirky.

After filing the information away into her phone, she passed the paper back to Finstock, smiling sweetly, genuinely thankful for his help. He seemed please at her response but reminded her that, should anyone ask, she did not get the information from him. It seemed like a fair deal so she agreed before bidding the man a farewell and trotting back towards the lift to head back up to Derek's floor to grab her bag.

After all, she had someone she had to go and see and there was no time like the present. If she had to see Derek mope for one more day there was a strong chance she would him. And while there were many things she wanted to do in her life, going to jail for the murder of her brother was not one of them.

And if it was a choice between becoming a murderer, going insane, or taking a trip into town to set things straight, she was going to need her bus pass.

**Right, so I've put Super Laura on the case so everything should be fine. ****She's not going to return without some sort of result so don't worry. And a big thanks to all of you who are reviewing, it means so much to me. **


	8. Super Laura To The Rescue

**My usually boring life had a weirdly social spike so I'm sorry this is late. Don't worry, I can guarantee that having a social life won't become a habit. Read on.**

Stiles didn't hear the knock on the door due to the music blaring through his headphones as he lay on his bed, feet kicked in the air, half reading the girly magazine that Isaac had chucked in his face that morning with the simple explanation of 'you've been moping like a girl, I figured you might like that.' Stiles would have been offended but Isaac had also brought him ice cream and he was incredibly grateful for that.

He did however notice Isaac rolling off of his bed on the other side of the room, grumbling under his breath, as he went to answer the door. His curiosity making itself known, Stiles sat upright and pulled the headphones from his ears switching his I-pod off in the process. Isaac, hearing him move, turned to glare at Stiles for making him get the door mid essay, but it was half hearted and he pulled the door open anyway.

There was a pause as Isaac looked the woman up and down, quirked an eyebrow, and smirked.

'Hello there' the word 'hello' stretched into multiple syllables, 'how can I help you?'

From where he was sitting Stiles snorted softly and rolled his eyes. He'd known Isaac long enough to know what his voice sounded like when he was attempting to flirt; it got all low and growly like he was trying to imitate a wolf or a lion. However because Isaac was all long limbs and Bambi eyes, it normally reminded Stiles more of a puppy dog trying to assert its authority over bigger, tougher dogs. In other words, it was useless and almost hilarious to witness his attempt to seduce the ladies.

Speaking of ladies, from where he was sitting, Stiles could only see the visitor's legs. They were definitely female; long, thin, ending in uncomfortable looking high heels, but other than that Stiles could see nothing more of the woman, Isaac's gangly body blocking his view.

'Oh, hello. Um, I was wondering if this was where Stiles Stilinski lived. The boys down the hall pointed me here.'

At this Isaac turned to stare at Stiles in shock, clearly flabbergasted as to why this woman was after Stiles and judging by the poor attempts at flirting a reasonably attractive woman. Stiles in turn stared back past Isaac's shoulder and out the door, just as shocked, because as Isaac turned his incredulous eyes on Stiles, he accidently afforded Stiles a better view of the woman. And he was pretty sure it would be a while before he forgot that face.

It was the woman from before, the woman from Derek's apartment. Except she wasn't in Derek's apartment, she was standing in the doorway of his dorm, chatting to his roommate, looking completely casual as if she weren't standing there representing everything that sucked in Stiles' life. And yeah, she probably didn't know that that was what she was, but it didn't change the fact that it was true.

She still hadn't noticed Stiles over Isaac's shoulder, the lovely idiot had returned his attention back to her and was trying to dodge her questions with overly flirtatious and cheesy remarks that would have made Stiles nauseous if he wasn't already on the verge of throwing up for other reasons. Instead of listening to Isaac's failed attempts at sexy, and he really wished the circumstances were different because he was pretty sure he had just seen Isaac attempt to recline against the door frame and slip, Stiles searched the room for escape exits or hiding places. He knew that he wouldn't fit out of the window, the safety bar blocking it from opening wide enough, so he resorted to slipping off of his bed and creeping towards the wardrobe across the room. Glancing back he was relieved to see that Isaac was still soldiering on although the woman looked a bit annoyed, so he returned his attention to trying to open the wardrobe door as soundlessly as possible. It barely made a noise as he cracked it open and he place one foot inside, bracing his hands on each side and-

'Stiles?'

He froze in place, halfway into the cupboard, wincing at the sound of his name. The woman's voice seemed caught between amused and confused and considering the position she'd caught him in he couldn't really blame her. He still wasn't going to turn around though.

'Stiles?'

This one was less sure. The amusement was gone but the confusion was still there. She had to know why he was ignoring her, why he couldn't have this conversation right now… or ever. She wasn't stupid, Derek would never have given her the time of day if she were stupid. She had to be aware of what her presence was doing to him. She just had to. Did she have to be so cruel? Yeah, sure, she won the prize, she got the guy, why the hell was she bothering to rub it in his face?

'Stiles. Can I talk to you please.'

At least she was polite. He'd hate for Derek to fall in love with someone rude and mean. At least this way he had someone worthy of him. Maybe Stiles should stop being selfish and just be happy that the man he loved was in love himself, just not with him. He should be happy that Derek was happy, and smiling, and _laughing_. Shouldn't that be enough? And he was turning 21 the next day, he was an _adult_. He could put on a brave face to see what the woman wanted, and then wallow in private and send Isaac for more ice cream. Yeah, he was a mature adult now. He could suck it up, he could do it.

And so, like the mature adult he was, he took a deep breath in, closed his eyes, and…

leapt into the wardrobe, pulling the doors closed behind him with a bang.

So maybe he wasn't that mature after all.

**SxD**

Laura watched with eyebrows raised as the skinny little man boy her brother was so infatuated with _locked himself in a wardrobe_. Yep. He actually locked himself in a wardrobe. After this was sorted she made a mental note to tease Derek about his romantic choices, because this was just ridiculous.

Brushing past the gangly boy who was truly failing in his attempts to woo her, she strode into the room and walked straight over to the wardrobe, knocking briskly on the cheap wood. From inside there was a squeak followed by a very childish 'Go away,' which of course, she ignored.

'Stiles, I really need to talk to you and I'd rather do it to your face.'

A pause.

'I don't want to talk to your stupid face.' She gaped, what was he? A five year old? She sighed and rested her hands on her hips, very conscious that Stiles' roommate was watching this unfold with a look of utter confusion creasing his face and his mouth opening and closing like he couldn't form the right words. She ignored him in favour with reasoning with the child locked in the wardrobe.

'Fine, if you won't come out I'll talk to you through the doors then.' She powered on through his noise of protest. 'What you saw at Derek's house a week ago, it's not what you think.'

'Wait, wait. _You _are the woman that stole his man?'

She held up a hand and shushed the roommate. He looked displeased but acquiesced anyway, which she was actually pretty grateful for, this was hard enough as it was.

'I know it looked bad, really I do, turning up to your 'date' with Derek to find him half naked with another woman, laughing and joking and hugging. But seriously, you've got it all wrong, like as far wrong as you can get. We're talking illegal wrong, _incest_ wrong. And as much as I love my brother-'

The wardrobe door slammed open causing Laura to leap backwards in reflex, she wobbled a bit in her heels but was steadied by a hand on her arm. She smiled in thanks at the roommate- she really needed to find out his name- before turning back to the now open cupboard.

Stiles sat huddled at the base of the wardrobe, a hole carved out in the heaps of clothes like a nest. His body was leaning forward towards Laura, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, seemingly struggling to find words. From the snippets of pining she'd got from Derek, she proudly realised that that was a rare occurrence.

Finally he settled on, 'B-b-brother?'

She nodded, smiling at the hopeful look it sparked. She leant forward and offered her hand.

'Laura Hale. Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot.'

He dazedly took her hand, allowing her to pull him from the piles of clothes, and steady him when he began to topple. His mind was obviously moving a mile a minute, he eyes darted around the room with no real aim other than to follow invisible trains of thought.

'So, you and Derek aren't-' He gestured wildly as he trailed off, waiting for Laura to chip in. She laughed.

'Hell no. Like I said, incest isn't really my thing. And I love my brother but he is too much of a moody bastard for me, I much prefer the innocent, happy-go-lucky types myself.'

At that she turned and winked at the gangly roommate who still looked to be lost on what was happening, but was obviously pleased with Laura's comment if his smile was anything to go by.

'Wait, but then if you aren't dating Derek, that means I overreacted about nothing and created a scene for no reason. And stressed myself out for a week and drank myself into a stupor over a problem that didn't exist. And, oh God, Derek must hate me. I totally blew him off on Saturday because I thought he blew me off the Saturday before, but he didn't so it was me who started the blowing off not him, which makes _me_ the bad guy. I don't want him to hate me Laura. Please tell me he doesn't hate me.'

And those eyes, wide and worried and filling up with frantic watery tears, were impossible to say no to.

'First of all, I now understand what Derek meant about you rambling, that was one hell of a train of thought, to be honest I barely followed it. Secondly, Stiles, he doesn't hate you. I'm pretty sure he couldn't if he tried, which he doesn't want to do. He is_ tearing _himself apart because he thinks he hurt you and he thinks he's lost you. Honey, you didn't see him when you didn't turn up yesterday,'

'Was it bad?'

'I've only ever seen him that distraught once in his life and that was when his first girlfriend Kate _fucking_ Argent screwed him over. She seduced him, stole his virginity and dignity as well by filming it, and then posted it online when she broke up with him for the whole world to see. And high school kids are mean and judgemental. She basically ruined his life. I never thought anything could make him hurt as bad as that did. Apparently losing you is hurting him just as badly, and that means that you mean a hell of a lot to him. If I am sure of nothing else, I am certain that he loves you Stiles. He could never hate you. But please, you have to go and see him, you have to sort this out before he destroys himself, I beg you.'

And with that Stiles became a flurry of movement. He picked up his keys and wallet, grabbed his phone off of his bed and was out of the door before Laura could even work out what he was doing. Smiling, she turned to follow him out, but was stopped by a hand on her arm.

'Maybe you should leave them a little while. This all seems pretty intense, I think they need to get through it alone.'

Laura looked up at the bright eyes of the boy from before and smiled at him, nodding her agreement.

'You are welcome hang out here for a while if you want. Till it is safe to go home again. Although I don't know when that will be, Stiles can talk for Britain and he has incredible stamina as well, which I'm really disturbed that I know, but the point is they are likely to take all night sorting things out if things go well.' Noticing her hesitance he sighed, raised his hands as if surrendering, and added, 'And I promise I won't try to hit on you anymore.'

She laughed at that before walking over to what she assumed was the boy's bed. Looking at the night table a student ID was noticeable and she picked it up to look closer at the fuzzy picture and the accompanying details. He made a whine at the back of his throat, she guessed it was a noise of protest, but made no move to stop her. Tossing the ID back onto the nightstand, she plonked herself down on his bed, careful to avoid the notes spread out on the surface, and then patted the space beside her invitingly, enjoying the look of complete disbelief on his face. Grinning she reclined against his pillow laying her now bare feet across his lap when he sat down.

'So, _Isaac Lahey,_ tell me about yourself. We seem to have some time and I want to know everything.'

**See I told you it's getting fixed. Next chapter Romeo and Romeo are reuniting I promise. But let's hear a cheer for Super Laura, she really did a fine job sorting out the kids didn't she? Way to go Laura, such a BAMF if you ask me.**


	9. The Final Confrontation

**And so it begins…**

Stiles was out of breath by the time he reached the 22nd floor. He had a stitch in his side, was panting deeply and his cheeks were flaming red, but he really couldn't bring himself to care as he stepped out of the lift, butterflies swarming in his stomach, into a pleasant hallway which he idly realised that even after months of working on the building, he had never seen before.

And of course it was only then that he realised he really had no idea what he was going to say. His sadly lacking love life so far had done little to teach him how to deal with situations like this, and it sure as hell wasn't covered in the porn he watched.

Should he wait to be invited in? _Would_ he be invited in? Did he apologise straight away? Short and sweet in true Derek Hale fashion? Or should he build up to it as a conclusion after a long rambling preface in true Stiles Stilinski fashion? Would Derek slam the door in his face for being such a little bitch? Should he let the door hit him in that scenario because he kind of deserves it for making assumptions like he did?

So many questions, some more useful than others, but ultimately all leading him to one conclusion. He was stalling. He was definitely stalling. He was just so nervous that he couldn't bring himself to stop stalling and move more than the pacing he was practicing on the hallway carpet. Because he had a single nagging thought circling his brain, making him want to throw up.

What if Derek rejected him?

For real this time. Not by accident through a window unaware of Stiles' voyeurism. And sure, Laura had insinuated that there was at least a little bit of interest on Derek's part, hence his sprint from campus to Derek's flat, but what if that wasn't enough for him to get over the fact that Stiles had freaked out, that he abandoned him, that he acted like a possessive fucking _high school_ girl whose crush had turned them down. Of course Derek probably didn't know about the one man pity parties he had hosted over the past week so he was probably safe from that ridicule. But still, rejection was a massive possibility, and that was not encouraging Stiles to move towards Derek's door.

Hence the lines probably permanently carved into the lush carpet by his pacing feet.

But on the other hand what if Derek _did_ want him? What if he forgave him, and they became friends again, and Stiles could begin to execute his plan to win him back? What if he got over the whole high school freak out thing and welcomed Stiles into his house with a clap on the back and an 'I've missed you dude', put a cold beer in his hand (a day early but whatever) and settled them down together on the couch to watch sports like the old days? What if, like the first time, Derek let Stiles cuddle in and sleep on his lap again, because god knows all this drama had messed with Stiles' sleep schedule and he was really tired. What if he missed out on that scenario because he was too chicken to knock on the guy's door?

So the what ifs went both ways. But how was he supposed to know which one would happen? The slam in the face or the friendly welcome? The crushing blow or the happy ending? He figured, sighing deeply, that there was only one way to really find out. He had to face the music and knock.

Nothing had ever sounded more ominous to him in his life than the hollow knock of his fist against the wood off Derek's door. There were a few seconds of tense silence before there was the sound of shuffling feet heading slowly towards the door, and the pressure was so heavy that Stiles found himself holding his breath, palms sweating and the instinct to run flashing red behind his eyes. But he didn't, partly because that would be the coward's way out and partly because he was pretty sure his legs weren't working properly anymore and it would be more embarrassing to be found lying on the floor unable to move.

So he stayed, rooted to the carpet, and waited as the seconds stretched on until the door was opened and he was greeted by a familiar, if more worn and bedraggled, face. It had only been a week but _god _he had missed the grumpy bastard's annoyingly attractive face. His eyes were rimmed red, sleep deprivation clearly apparent, his stubble was thicker than before, and some horrible part of Stiles glowed at the fact that his absence had had such a drastic effect on the Greek God of a man before him. He shushed the twisted part of his mind that was preening over the fact that he clearly hadn't been the only one suffering, just like Laura had implied, because that was horrible and selfish and he had other things, more pressing things, to think about right then.

Like, what was he supposed to say? Derek was no help, he just stared at Stiles, shocked and confused and ultimately useless. But for once Stiles couldn't think of anything to say because his mind had blanked the minute he had seen Derek's perfectly frustrating face again. So Stiles stood on Derek's doormat, mouth opening and closing at regular intervals but with no words visibly coming and Derek just stared back in semi stunned silence. It was awkward to say the least.

Two whole minutes of nothing followed with the two just staring each other down before Derek finally snapped.

He growled low in his throat, the sound worryingly animalistic and unrestrained, before his arms shot out, grabbed the front of Stiles' t-shirt and pulled him into his flat, kicking the door shut behind them with the heel of his boot. He pressed Stiles into the nearest wall and sealed their lips together, rough and hard and desperate.

Moaning, Stiles pressed back, not content to be dominated so easily. His fingers tangled in Derek's hair, using the new hold to pull them closer and slot their mouths together more comfortably. Derek took to running his hands over every inch of Stiles' body that he could access, hands refusing to stay in one place or even above clothing, for any significant length of time. Every now and then he would growl out a moan, low in his throat, before diving in with renewed vigour, biting and nipping and licking as if he were trying to get Stiles to come undone there and then. It was breathtakingly addictive, and Stiles was loathe to stop it, so much so that he waited till his vision started to blur and his head started to spin before he pulled away and gasped in much needed air. Undeterred, Derek latched onto the smooth skin of Stiles' neck, kissing and biting his way down the collarbone hidden just below the neck of the t-shirt, which he had tugged out of the way. Gripping Derek's hair tighter, Stiles angled his neck so that Derek had better access to the unmarked skin. Seemingly excited by the prospect of being the one that marked that skin, Derek moaned again and scratched his stubble against the pale neck, practically purring when Stiles shuddered beneath him.

Then, suddenly, he froze up, still pressed against Stiles' neck, but suddenly unmoving. It took a moment for Stiles to come down from his lust induced haze but when he did his face contorted with a mix of confusion and self-doubt. He tugged at Derek's hair, trying to get him to look him in the eye but Derek refused to budge, instead staying nestled in the crook of Stiles' neck, breathing heavily.

'Derek? What's wrong? Why'd you stop?'

A sigh swept across the skin of his shoulder causing another shiver to ripple through Stiles, the hairs on his neck standing up. It was hard, but he endured the silence without breaking it, waiting for Derek to answer him. Eventually his patience paid off and the stubble left his skin, and blue eyes met brown.

'Do you want this?'

'What?'

'Do you want this? You have to tell me you want this. You have to tell me you want _me_. Please. Tell me this is why you came. Tell me you forgive me for driving you away. Tell me I didn't make this up. God please, please I need to hear it.'

Stiles stood silent, stunned at the wrecked voice, the broken eyes and as he took in the hunched posture with hands fisted like claws in his shirt he felt his heart crack a little. He had had no idea that Derek had been so hurt, so crushed, seeing him like this was almost _painful_. He was also a little amazed, he had known Derek a few months and he had never heard him speak so much, with such emotion, it was kind of startling. However, his wonderment caused his silence stretch on a bit too long and before he answered Derek pulled away and took a step back, head bowed and hands covering his face, whispering through his fingers rapidly, his voice cracking.

'_Oh god_. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I couldn't help myself. You were there, and I hadn't seen you in a week, and I thought you'd come to… I thought wrong. I-I'm so sor-'

'I want it.'

Derek's head shot up, words trailing off mid-sentence, and eyes snapping to meet Stiles' wide eyed stare.

'What?'

'I said I want this. I want you. I came to tell you that, to beg _you_ to forgive _me_ for overreacting. To beg you to give me another chance. God Derek, you'd have to be mad to think I didn't want you. You are _everything_ I want. This week has been hell, I couldn't concentrate, I barely slept, I thought you'd been teasing me, playing with my feelings. I didn't understand. And then your sister came to see me and I hid in a wardrobe because I couldn't face her, but then she told me I'd been wrong and I felt so bad. I felt like the biggest idiot in the world. And I hate myself for doing this to you. So don't, for one second think that I am going to turn you down. I want this, you idiot. I want you.'

With that he pulled Derek back in, trying his hardest to remove every trace of doubt he could find in the other man. Slowly he felt Derek relax under his touch and only then did he pull away again wanting to make sure he'd achieved his goal. His heart leapt at the smile on the other man's face, tentative and tender and one he had never seen before. In awe he lifted a hand to stroke against the unshaven cheek before him, laughing in surprise when Derek turned his face to place a kiss on Stiles' palm, smirking at the reaction he got before pulling him into an embrace, Stiles' head tucked under his chin. Stiles felt Derek place a light kiss to the crown of Stiles' head before just leaving his lips pressed to his hair. It was a weirdly wonderful moment.

'So this is not how I thought this would end the day we met.' Stiles laughed when the silence pressed too heavily for him to ignore. Derek snorted into his hair, hands trailing along Stiles' spine in slow comforting movements.

'Who says this is the ending? Surely this is just the beginning?'

Stiles let out a hum of agreement and slipped a hand into Derek's back pocket, not missing the choked gasp he got when he applied slight pressure.

'Alright smartass.' Another squeeze, he got a growl this time. 'How about we_ begin_ in the bedroom? This has been a long time coming and I feel that taking it slow might just kill me so if that was your plan, I suggest you revaluate- HEY'

Derek didn't wait for him to finish. His eyes flashed as he hauled Stiles over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing and began striding towards his bedroom. He ignored the protests from Stiles and instead kicked his bedroom door shut and tossed Stiles into the middle of his king sized bed, delighting at the way Stiles flushed, embarrassed, as he propped himself up on his elbows and glared.

'My, my, Derek. How very caveman of you.' Stiles scowled, but the frown melted away as soon as Derek crawled onto the bed and pushed him onto his back, following his lips down as they went. After a minute he pulled away just enough to speak, lips still brushing lightly as they moved, a look of nervous hesitance in his eyes.

'Before we do this, I figured you should know, I-I-I-.' He breathed in deeply and squeezed his eyes closed, the look of concern on Stiles' face distracting him from what he felt he needed to say. Finally he opened his eyes again, and stared into Stiles' wide brown eyes.

'I-I love you.'

Derek didn't really know what he was expecting but it wasn't for Stiles to dissolve into a surprised fit of giggles. Derek pulled back so he was sitting on Stiles' hips and furrowed his eyebrows as he watched, offended, as the boy laughed till he was breathless. Finally Stiles calmed down and grinned up at Derek's unamused face, which almost sent him back into fits.

'Oh, dude, I thought you were going to tell me you had gonorrhoea or something. You had me panicking man. I didn't mean to laugh; I was just a little surprised and a lot relieved. I don't know if it makes up for my shitty reaction but I kind of love you too.'

Derek's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

'Really? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?'

Stiles curled his fingers into the front of Derek's shirt and pulled him till he was hovering over Stiles' mouth once more.

'No, dumbass. I'm not just saying that. I _do_ love you. That being said, I might kill you if you don't _do something_ right _now_.' He emphasised his point by bucking his hips where Derek was perched on them. 'I've had enough of our epic heart to heart, I'm thinking we should get our other body parts involved. I can think of a few that wouldn't mind being taken for a spin, that is, if you think you can handle me.'

And Derek didn't like being challenged, so he shut Stiles up in the best way he knew how.

Long story short, it was probably a good thing Laura didn't come home that night.

**TADA! It is complete. Well kind of. I might do an epilogue at some point but as far as the main storyline is concerned this is the end. And see, I told you it would all work out. That being said I don't really know if I am happy with how the whole thing turned out so I would love to hear what you think. I hope it wasn't too sickly sweet for your liking, and I was in too minds about whether or not to write this scene a bit… further (if you know what I mean) but I wasn't sure it would be well received. Would it?**

**And now I'm really sad it's over. I guess I'll have to start writing another fic then to make up for this whole in my life. Promises promises, let's see if they hold up.**

**And again, thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, this would have been nowhere near as fun without knowing you guys liked it. **


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